


And Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

by jumpstarts



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sleeping Beauty AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15325944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpstarts/pseuds/jumpstarts
Summary: He is, indeed, most wondrous fair. Gold of sunshine in his smile, brightness that can shame the stars. In ageless sleep, he finds repose.(Unfortunately, this is not that story.)





	And Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [And Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep 现在，我即将入眠](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388464) by [Setg2154](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setg2154/pseuds/Setg2154)



> the sleeping beauty au that has plagued me so much i can't work on anything else. shoutout to ching, for being so patient with my sporadic au outburst and sends me adorable, encouraging doodles of the most random things. and the rest of the twitter peeps who are such enablers. i love you guys a lot. *heartfingers

 

.

 

They say that a witch came to the castle on the day of his christening and placed a curse on him, borne out of spite and jealousy and maybe the kind of loneliness that drives one into madness. The banquet, oh so joyous before lightning and thunder wiped out their mirth, held their breath as the witch's laughter lingered long after she's gone in a scattering murder of crows. The queen, knees bruised from where she'd collapsed right next to her son's cradle, started weeping.

That's when the smallest, youngest fairy turned the death sentence into an enchanted slumber.

 _It's mercy_ , she called it. But her smile was brittle and the flowers in her hair turned ashen grey. _That's the best I can do. I'm sorry_.

 

.

 

Yunho flourishes, earnest and bright and as beautiful as the fairies have promised. He smiles in delight as the sun rises, his feet learning to run before he can walk and the nursemaids are too often left wondering what grand adventures those mischievous feet have found. They do not worry and fret though; the kingdom falls in love with him at first sight and they willingly burn their spinning wheels for the young prince. They even hide their knitting needles and decorative hairpins in locked drawers. Hunters brave the dark woods to find the witch and they persist, year after year, despite their dwindling number until the king and queen beg them to stop. The royal family invites countless magical beings to break the curse - white witches with their herbs and damp, earthy voices, warlocks in sweeping cloaks the colour of midnight, gnarled, ancient creatures from across the seas, revered as gods by some of the wild tribes.

"It cannot be done," they tell the king and the queen after hours of poking and prodding the prince. Who enjoys the attention and gurgles at them in his own nonsensical language, as if they're newfound friends. Even the creatures find themselves a little bit in love and their hearts have ceased beating centuries ago. "Best be prepared."

The fairies sing songs of hope and lament, deep in their own mounds over the rolling hills.

As he grows, Yunho finds a constant companion in a younger prince from the neighbouring kingdom. Their royal fathers were raised together, seeking each other's counsel throughout the years, and they are expected to do the same. At fourteen, Changmin is tall and gangly, often unsure of what to do with the extra inches his limbs intent on growing in unpredictable spurts. His eyes are wide, fawn-like, and sharp with knowledge too deep for someone so young. He prefers to watch and listen, and Yunho is more than happy to chatter enough for two. The differing temperaments draw them closer instead of apart, and Changmin visits at least once a week since Yunho is forbidden to leave the protection of his own land.

"My tutor told me you're cursed," Changmin says one day, out of the blue. His mouth is sticky from blueberries they've picked and shared. He's grown three inches since the last time Yunho saw him and his wristbones protrude from under his cuffs. "What nonsense."

Yunho sighs and fiddles with the last knot on the flower crown in his lap. His fingers brush the petals of a daisy, a baby's breath. "It's true."

Changmin stares. "That you'll fall asleep for a hundred years until someone kisses you awake?"

The horses stamp their feet, impatient. Already the guards are coming to escort the princes back to the safety of the castle walls, for the nights are thick with unspeakable things. "I suppose."

Changmin's lips presses into a thin line. The dark brown of his eyes shifts into molten gold, gilded by the last dying embers of sunlight and Yunho wonders what Changmin means when he says, "Nonsense."

He wears the flower crown Yunho has woven without much protest and promises to be back for Yunho's sixteenth birthday celebration the week after. The festivities are expected to last the entire month and Changmin likes to eat as much as he likes spending hours perusing heavy tomes in the castle's cavernous library. He will be staying for a while, for his parents are as fond of Yunho as if he is their own son. Yunho watches him leave, keeps waving until he can't see the back of Changmin's head and wishes, not for the first time, that he can traverse further than the edge of his own land. Hand in hand with Changmin, into the twilight realm far beyond.

 

.

 

“My son,” the queen murmurs, her fingers in his hair and her lips on his forehead. She’s grown paler in the last few months, like colours seeping out of an ivory vessel. The fierce, unyielding fire in her eyes, however, can still rival the Endless Lights at the edge of the Tarrakan Sea. He presses closer to her warmth and she sighs. “My beautiful darling son. How I wish—”

 

.

 

It's the eve of his birthday and Yunho is where he is not supposed to be.

The old woman's smile is kind. And when she asks if he can spin some yarn while she rests ( _just for a little_ , she wheezes, _these old bones tire quickly, your highness_ ), he is eager to help. He circles the odd contraption before him with unabashed curiosity, doesn't realise how the shadows grow longer and darker inside the cramped little space. He's never noticed the attic before, but the trapdoor was open and no one else had been around. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. She shows him how to move the wheel and where he should put his hands before urging him closer.

The spindle is sharper than he anticipates.

He gasps as it draws blood and her smile grows too many teeth.

"Goodnight, little prince."

 

.

 

Yunho wakes up a ghost.

 

.

 

"He has a little bit of magic of his own," the smallest, youngest fairy says and Yunho blinks when her hand passes through his chest. She looks troubled, as if he's done something terrible. "I did not anticipate this."

The queen is too angry to shed tears and her voice lashes around them like streaks of thunder, belaying her true Northern origin. "Isn't he supposed to fall sleep? And you will put us to sleep as well, until the time comes for him to be kissed awake?"

The fairy is far from cowed by the queen's anger. She's the smallest and the youngest, yes, but she is still older than the kingdom itself. "My Queen," she says, mildly. The flowers on her head grow thorns and the king, always the sensible one between them, places a restraining hand on his wife's arm. "The curse holds. As does my blessing. Only a true love's kiss will wake him completely."

Yunho stares at his body, lying in bed with hands folded over his chest and dressed in his finest suit.

He would've looked at home in a coffin.

 

.

 

Changmin strides into Yunho's bedroom alone, face flushed and fingers curled into tight, unforgiving fists.

"You’re late," Yunho says, from his perch on the windowsill. He's trying to catch a glimpse of the kitchen maids scurrying about and thinks wistfully that he will miss being surrounded by their merriment. “They’ve cancelled the party, I’m afraid.”

"What happened?" Changmin asks. His eyes flicker from the bed to Yunho. "What did you do?"

“I’m cursed, remember?” There’s laughter at the back of his throat, because ghosts don’t cry. He’s read that somewhere. The kingdom is in mourning, but it won’t be for long. Their prince has been spared a permanent death, after all. Changmin narrows his eyes and Yunho straightens. He moves closer, lifts his hand to ruffle Changmin’s hair like he’s used to. “But I’m glad you’re here—”

Changmin flinches away.  

“Ah.” Yunho allows his hand to drop, forgets that Changmin doesn’t like ghost stories. “I’m sorry, Changminnie.” 

Changmin doesn’t cry, but his eyes are troublingly wet in the failing light.

 

.

 

The king and queen send out invitations in thick, durable envelopes. Their messengers travel tirelessly, even to the furthest reach of the forgotten lands, to ensure that they have not missed anyone. Once those letters are dispatched and the story of Yunho’s misfortune made public, his suitors start pouring in. There are princes and princesses, in gowns and suits and armours. There are knights bearing crests from distant lands, mounted on gigantic steeds that crowd the streets. Some even fly in on the back of dragons and gryphons and screeching, shadow-dark creatures with bat-like wings. Yunho loves watching them the most, for they are infinitely more interesting than the lords and ladies who flutter into his room, like a procession of peacocks, proud and extravagant.

They introduce themselves with bows and curtsies (and in one memorable occasion, through a fat, jolly bard with a penchant for limericks), before they ask for his permission to kiss the slumbering body arranged on top of the covers for their viewing pleasure. Like a prize, to be worshipped and fought over.

None of them succeeds.

“This is stupid.”

Yunho sits cross-legged near the fireplace, reading a book. Or trying to, when Changmin barges in and the maid (who’s been tasked to flip the pages for him, such nuisance) is immediately excused. Changmin’s temper has been mercurial as of late and he’s taken to avoiding Yunho when another entourage of prospective suitors marches into the kingdom. Yunho waits for an explanation. When none comes, he ventures to ask, “And ‘this’ refers to?”

“ _This_.” Changmin punctuates the word with a vehement gesture towards the bed, where Yunho’s body lies in its deep slumber. He’s dressed in shades of red and orange, to match the season. Changmin’s lips twist into a bitter moue. “This charade. This is not how true love is found.”

“It’s the quickest way.” Patience is never his strongest suit, but being anchored to his bedroom has taught Yunho its virtues. He smiles, tilts his head. “Or would you rather see me a phantom forever?”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant.” Changmin flusters, jaw clenching. He’s growing into his frame, filling out with muscles where skin and bones used to be. His voice is barbwire-sharp when he says, “I’ll find the witch and make her undo the curse.”

Fear surges in Yunho’s heart, reminded of all those missing hunters and their names carved in a giant cenotaph erected in the middle of the town square. He draws closer and wishes he can shake some sense into the younger boy. “No, you won’t. Changmin, promise me you won’t.”

The stubborn set of his jaw tells Yunho that his words have fallen on deaf ears.

 

.

 

Changmin finds three witches in the span of two years.

Yunho's body remains unmoving as the witches burn on their stakes.

 

.

 

Time catches up with everyone, except Yunho, and he only realises how long his body has been asleep when one day, his father comes into his room without his mother and sits in silence for what feels like an eternity. The fire spits and crackles in the grate, a mere courtesy as he feels neither warmth nor cold. The king’s shoulders have long lost their proud straightness, sloping gently from age and the weight of deep-seated melancholy.

Yunho has seen the mourning shrouds, has heard the sound of servants crying softly in the corridors.  

He knows what is coming.

"You have your mother's eyes," the king says, quiet and mournful, and Yunho wishes he can wrap his arms around his father. He kneels in front of his father, hands hovering over his knees in a pitiful attempt to comfort. The king nods, slowly. A tired, old smile touches his lips. "And her fierce spirit."

The Royal Tomb is nowhere near his window and he grieves for the lost opportunity of a final farewell.

Yunho wishes he can cry. The world moves on and he doesn't quite know how to catch up. Even the streets outside gradually shifts, bigger and busier, reminding him that everything changes. Except him. Changmin succeeds his own father, but he doesn’t falter in his habit. He’s not allowed to come as often though, as his new duties are far more important than childhood promises. They play chess during his visits and Yunho is good enough after all these years that Changmin doesn't beat him in three moves anymore. They watch clouds from his window and sometimes, Changmin looks at him like he's trying to understand something. He doesn't explain and Yunho doesn't ask.

When his father dies in his sleep, Yunho ascends the throne.

They call him The Ghost King.

His body, beautiful and ageless, remains in a slumber so deep that he's given up on true love's kiss. He treats it like a relic from the distant past and busies himself learning how to govern, when to be unyielding and when to recognise softer approaches. He is apprehensive at first, but his royal advisors are steadfast and loyal. They chide him when he proposes something foolish and congratulate him on particular political successes, always generous with their time and advice. He finds kinship in the son of one of those advisors and turns to Hojun about his private worries when Changmin is preoccupied with the affairs of his own kingdom. Yunho holds court in his bedroom, thankful that his people have accepted this new way of proceedings without so much as a grumble.  

He doesn't sleep and doesn't tire, but it is unavoidable that his heart grows wearier with each passing winter.

It’s wretchedly lonely, being tethered to the very edge of existence and yet still too far from the reaches of the living.

“Will you drive a dagger into my chest, if I ask that of you?” Yunho asks Changmin, when it’s snowing outside and spring feels like a lifetime away. His heart is sick with longing, grappling for any poor imitation of freedom. Changmin’s fingers still over an obsidian knight and his large eyes stare, unblinking, at Yunho. “Do you think I will cease to exist? Or will I linger on, forever sixteen, as they bury my body next to Father and Mother?”

Yunho isn’t surprised when Changmin leaves, radiating fury thick enough to cut.

 

.

 

Yunho sends him roses and hyacinths and carnations and tulips.

The flowers say, _I’m sorry for being cruel._

They say, _Please come back_.

 

.

 

A witch from a nightless land tells Changmin that the curse will never be broken, spitting viciously at him through broken teeth and mangled lips.

The screams from her funeral pyre last for several nights.

 

.

 

The next time he sees Changmin, Yunho notices the streak of grey in his hair. He's watched him grow tall and strong, strikingly handsome, and to think that age is catching up to him is deeply unsettling. He spends the evening listening to Changmin's stories and grouses, laughing as he complains about a dispute between the textile merchants from the East and the copper miners in the West. Hojun drops by for a chat, but he never stays for long when Changmin is visiting. The two are polite to each other, but they are not fast friends, despite Yunho’s multiple attempts. Changmin moves their chess pieces and allows Yunho to take his bishops, a knight and a handful of pawns before he beats him in two moves.

"You should find yourself a queen, Changminnie," Yunho says, during dinner. Changmin has his meal brought into the room and Yunho watches fondly as he tucks into the roasted pheasant with an almost childish zeal. Yunho doesn’t even remember the taste of his mother’s favourite wine anymore. “Hojun said one of the princesses from the Northern Territories is interested in you.”

Changmin looks at him for long seconds. "Maybe Hojun should mind his own business."

Yunho doesn’t ask Changmin that question again.

 

.

 

The fairy, as small and young as the memory from his childhood, comes to him when the moon is at its zenith. She bears kindness in the form of a small vial, filled with a red liquid so dark it is almost black. “You can end this, if that is your wish.”

Yunho thinks about the dead he carries in his heart and almost says _yes, please_.

But Changmin is still alive, strong and steadfast and stubborn, so Yunho smiles wryly and tells her, _ask me again once I have nothing more to lose_.

She looks at him as if she understands and nods, sealing the promise with a kiss.

 

.

 

Yunho still doesn’t wake up.

 

.

 

Decades later, Changmin comes to him when he is an old, dying man and Yunho is still who he has been all these years. The servants withdraw once Changmin dismisses them, leaving behind the kind of silence that, for once in their intertwined lives, lies heavy and stifling. Sunlight pours into his room in a flood of warm gold and the streets outside are resplendent with colours, the usual gaiety that accompanies an early spring. Yunho thinks that their reunion should be more joyful, but Changmin’s stride is slower and he takes his time crossing the room, heading for the bed. Instead of the window, where Yunho is perched on its sill.   

"You asked once why I don’t have a queen," Changmin says, as he sits on the edge of the bed for the first time since Yunho has fallen asleep. His hair is more white than black, looks as soft as newly-fallen snow. "Remember?"

Yunho nods, brows furrowing. "I don't forget."

Changmin is looking at the sleeping prince, not _him_ , and Yunho cannot read his expression. "What I wanted to tell you was that—" his hand, wrinkled and arthritic, smooths over the heavy silk sheet. Slowly, as if in pain. "—I've already lost my chance years ago."

Yunho says nothing.

Even with the repertoire of words at his disposal, he realises that he still doesn't know how to articulate heartbreak.

Changmin straightens, bones creaking underneath layers of finery, and finally looks at Yunho. His smile is both fond and self-deprecating. "May I?"

The tightness in his throat makes it difficult for Yunho to say anything in return, so he nods. Turns away and closes his eyes, because he is never good at goodbye.

And when Yunho opens his eyes again, he finds himself staring up at Changmin. Who looks even older this close, wrinkles carved deep into the corners of his eyes and mouth. He doesn’t miss the surprise reflected in those eyes when Changmin stares back at him and the world stops breathing around them. There's unfamiliar weight in Yunho's bones, rattles of his lungs when he draws breath for the first time in _years_ and his heart hammers against his ribcage, trying to remember how to be alive again.

Yunho reaches out to curl his arm around Changmin’s neck and finally, _finally_ cries.

 

.

 


End file.
